Beneath the Traitor Sun
by Ultra-Geek
Summary: King's Bane sequel! As an eclipse darkens Narnia, the Free Narnians act to destroy Edmund. Too bad that remnants of the Witch’s army have a similar plan...
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Beneath the Traitor Sun  
**Summery: **An eclipse, a reformed traitor, and an ancient myth all come together as the Free Narnians make their next move. To bad that remnants of the Witch's army have a similar plan. Sequel to King's Bane.  
**Author:** Ultra-Geek  
**Disclaimer:** I own diddly squat  
**Rating:** T  
**AN – **If you haven't read King's Bane, then you're going to be very confused. I'd go read that first. There'll be little bits of recapping. Next, I'm going to ask you to bear with me. This is the first time I've gone about writing a sequel.

Chapter One is brought to you by the common cold.

* * *

_"Every uncorrected error and unrepented sin is, in its own right, a fountain of fresh error and fresh sin flowing on to the end of time." CS Lewis_

* * *

Peter drummed his fingers on the arm of his throne. The rather rotund Duke in front of him continued on and on, complaining loudly of the problems he was having with a nearby dwarf clan. The Duke – whose name was Merado – normally dealt with Edmund. Before having to deal with the man himself, Peter had thought his younger brother to simply be exaggerating.

He was now being corrected in his assumption, and was wishing vehemently that he didn't have to deal with Merado at all. But Peter mentally kicked himself, and was forced to remember why he, instead of Edmund, had to deal with the pompous Duke.

"So I said to this Wicket, or Micket, or whatever that detestable dwarf's name was, that if he can not abide by my rules, he could go ahead and leave Lantern Waste. After all, it was his family that was ripping up the ground to get at their precious metals and disturbing the peace. And then, your Majesty, do you know what that bearded excuse for a Narnian said to me?"

"I suppose you'll tell me either way," Peter answered. Idly, he wondered if Merado realized that the 'detestable excuse for a Narnian' was standing near the door of the throne room, listening to the Duke's rant. The Lord Smith of the Lantern Waste clan of dwarves – whose name wasn't Wicket or Micket, but in fact Rickanarrbrik – simply leaned against the wall and allowed Merado to dig his own grave.

Merado merely confirmed Peter's suspicions by plowing onwards. "I won't use his exact wording, your Majesty, as it is much too crude and disgusting for these halls."

Peter held up a hand for Merado to quiet, and looked to Rickanarrbrik. "What did you tell him, Lord Smith?"

"Nothin' too bad, High King Peter," said the dwarf with a shrug and a smirk. Peter felt apprehension brew in his stomach. Edmund was generally the four monarch's chief diplomat in all things concerning dwarves. Many times, Edmund's scathing wit and sarcasm was the only thing to get through to them.

Of course, that was before…

Peter was jolted from his reverie as he realized he had missed the dwarf's words. "I'm sorry," he said. "But could you repeat yourself, Rickanarrbrik?"

"I said," said the dwarf slowly, as if doubting Peter's intelligence. "That his grace – with all due respect, natur'ly – could kindly take his peace and shove it up where the sun can't touch, Majesty."

Peter blinked once, and tried to keep a straight face. He failed. Miserably.

Merado noticed at once, and stamped his foot. "Your Majesty, this is hardly a laughing matter! I demand that my complaint be met with respect!"

"Believe me, Duke Merado," said Peter seriously. "Your complaint is being met with all the respect it deserves."

Merado's face turned an interesting shade of red. He sputtered for a moment, and then burst out with, "I demand to serve my complaint to King Edmund!"

"I'm with Cherry-Cheeks," said Rickanarrbrik, and had it not been for what the two were suggesting, Peter may've laughed at the nickname. "I want to talk to King Edmund."

"I'm sorry," said Peter. His voice was sharp and his words clipped. "But King Edmund is not holding court."

"He hasn't been in court for months, your Majesty," protested Merado loudly. "And I demand to know the reason!"

The reason, Peter was tempted to tell them, was that anyone coming to the Cair may be an enemy to his brother. It had only been about three months since a terrorist cell composed of Narnians – they referred to themselves as the 'Free Narnians' – had attempted to assassinate Edmund. They had had used a toxin known as King's Bane to fell the young king. It caused Edmund to have terribly vivid hallucinations of his worst nightmares coming to life. Peter wanted to bellow at the Duke and Lord Smith how, even now, whenever Edmund woke from slumber he was plagued by illusions so real, he couldn't separate them from reality half of the time.

Instead, Peter met Merado's gaze squarely and didn't move, even when the Duke broke the stare down. "It is not your place, Merado, to question the authority of the High King," he said icily. Everyone gathered in the throne room grew silent and watched. "It should suffice your curiosity enough when I say that my brother is not holding court. Now, continue your issue with Lord Smith Rickanarrbrik."

With a slight bow of the head, Merado continued on in his tirade about Rickanarrbrik. Peter's attention, however, was quickly placed elsewhere as Philip nosed his way into the room, and quickly trotted over to Sir Giles Fox, the chamberlain. Merado sent an annoyed glance towards them, but kept on talking. Peter, however, felt his stomach plunge as he watched the pair converse in quiet whispers.

Every muscle in Philip's body was tense, and Giles' ears went flatter and flatter as the Horse whispered to him. Peter knew what that meant.

"So sorry to interrupt," Giles said, not looking at all apologetic. "But his Majesty High King Peter is needed in the library. There is an urgent matter that needs attending."

Peter was all ready on his feet and walking towards the door, Philip in his wake.

Merado called after him. "But…But my complaint, Majesty!"

The dwarf answered him. "Let him go. There's more important things that this."

"No one was talking to you, Ticket!"

"Oi! My name's not _Ticket_, its Rickanarrbrik! Rick-uh-nar-brick!"

The door slammed, and effectively cut off the arguing. "Where is he?" Peter asked as king and Horse swept quickly through the halls.

Philip snorted, knowing very well that Peter didn't enquire as too Edmund's physical location. "I think the Witch's Dungeons, your Majesty."

Peter swore and continued on his hurried way.

* * *

"Not real," Edmund whispered quietly to himself. He had one arm bent against the wall, and his head bowed. He shivered against the freezing air around him. "It's not real."

A freezing finger trailed down the back of his neck, and he shuddered. "Isn't it?" asked the Witch.

"Peter's coming," Edmund said in response. "You're not real."

"Of course I am, Edmund dear," she whispered before viciously backhanding him across the face. Edmund bit back a slight sob, his knees shaking.

"I was in the Library, I was reading," he said. "You can't be here."

"But I am here," Jadis crooned softly. "I'm always here. Don't fret, child. I am going no where."

Edmund frowned. Wait…

She grabbed his chin and forced him to look up. "Edmund, Edmund," she said. "You're home with me."

"…home…"

"Yes, yes," the witch continued. "With me. With your real family, where you _belong_."

"Peter!" he gasped and nearly went wept at the realization. "You're Peter!"

The next part always made Edmund woozy and sick, but even closing his eyes didn't help. The icy walls flickered and shifted, flashing from their blaring white to the sandy walls of the library. Walls and bars became shelves and stacks of books, and the freezing air quickly rose to warmth. The Witch's sneering, cruel face seemed to stretch and pull until it became Peter's concerned one.

Edmund dropped to his knees and allowed his brother to pull him into an embrace. He could feel his body shaking and shivering uncontrollably. "It's all right, you're all right," Peter whispered softly. "Where did you go this time, Ed?"

"The dungeon," he whispered with his voice soft and sounding terribly weak. "She…she was there…"

"She's gone, Edmund. She's gone. She can't hurt you anymore."

Edmund simply buried himself deeper into Peter's arms. The youngest king had told his brother everything, sparing no detail, of every torture that the Witch had put him through. For nearly a month, Edmund hadn't been able to look Peter in the eye for fear of what he'd see there. Anger, maybe. Or contempt and disgust over everything that Edmund had done, everything he hadn't been able to stop. But when he finally did meet Peter's eyes, all he found was worry, love, and protection.

It made Edmund feel even worse. He didn't deserve that.

"It's all right," Peter continued. "We're all okay…"

* * *

Every time that Peter saw Edmund, he was shocked. It was as if his brother was simply fading away, growing fainter and fainter until he would all but disappear. He hardly slept for fear of the hallucinations that would greet him upon waking. Those very same waking nightmares troubled Edmund to the point where he barely ate.

In fact, Edmund consumed only the barest minimum to stay functional. And even that little amount Peter, Susan, and Lucy had to all but force into his mouth.

Oreius had refused to let Edmund rejoin in training, and Peter had stood behind the centaur all of the way. But what had startled both the High King and the general was how easily Edmund had given up the argument. Time once was that Edmund would fight tooth and nail to get his way, and upon denial would simply figure out a way to do it any way.

This Edmund…didn't.

He was wasting away, and there was nothing that Peter could do to stop it. All he could do was read those letters from the Free Narnians – letters he could now recite by heart, though they made him physically ill – and hope to glean some sort of new information from them. But it was to no avail.

The thought of those terrorists still roaming free made Peter's heart hammer and his vision to become slightly tainted with red. He would find them, and he would show them the full terror of his wrath. Magnificent was a title that meant wonderful and great, but it also meant terrifying and awe-inspiring. Peter intended the Free Narnians to discover that side with out any room for misunderstanding.

Had he known what they were planning at that very moment, his blood may have quite literally boiled.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Beneath the Traitor Sun  
**Summery: **An eclipse, a reformed traitor, and an ancient myth all come together as the Free Narnians make their next move. To bad that remnants of the Witch's army have a similar plan. Sequel to King's Bane.  
**Author:** Ultra-Geek  
**Disclaimer:** Right. Because obviously if I owned Chronicles of Narnia I'd be writing fanfiction…puh-lease…I own nothing.  
**Rating:** T  
**AN – **So, at my school, we had this nasty cold going around. For three of the five school days this week, about twenty-five percent of the population at my school was out. (Yes, I was one of them). Now, this kid who sits behind me in one of my classes yesterday was all, "Yeah, I have strep throat, and even though I'm still contagious I came in today. Now, Ultra-Geek's throat is ten different types of sore, and my stomach's all nasty. I hate High School. It's like a breeding ground for SICK. _Anyway_…

I've decided that I'm not going to do a quote for every chapter. There's that one in the last chapter that's just kind of omnipotent (that's right; the quote knows all, sees all, hears all! Fear it!)

...I just went back and read that Author's Note, and I realized just how much cold medicine messes with my head. I hate cold medicine...

* * *

"The Traitor Sun draws near, Rannoch," Tibus said, neck craning up towards the sky. The young centaur pawed the ground. "I would give it three days, minimum."

The stag nodded once. "Then we strike in two days time, at noon," he said seriously. "That should give us enough time to get to the Table. Send word to Ritnik to be ready. I will get the others prepared."

Tibus sighed and nodded. "Yes, Rannoch," he said with the air of a student talking to a despised school master. Then he frowned as a thought occurred to him. "It is said that the High King is very…protective of the traitor."

Rannoch cocked his head slightly to the side. "Your point, Tibus?"

"Perhaps it would be easier for our goal if he were to be out of the way tomorrow. The High King, I mean. I have some friends. Friends who are sympathetic with our cause. They have been travelling with Oreius' guard as he keeps the peace in the Western Wood. Perhaps," Tibus spoke while keeping an eye on Rannoch's immobile face, "Perhaps a false alarm to get him out of the castle? A threat that is perhaps seen and over exaggerated, in order to get High King Peter from the Cair? It would serve our purpose, Rannoch."

"That…that it would," the stag said after a long, silent moment. "That it would."

* * *

Mikhail fidgeted nervously from claw to claw. He anxiously pruned his feathers with his beak, and kept watch with a single golden eye. The griffin stopped in his pruning and glanced at his reflection in a particularly shiny vase. Oh, was he ashamed of his appearance! His golden feathers stuck in every which direction, and the dirt beneath his talons would have sent his mother – Aslan rest her – into a complete and utter tizzy Without warning, Mikhail was struck with a sudden panic that he had lost his message. He glanced down at his leg and his heart froze in horror. It was gone!

His heart resumed its normal pace as he remembered that the General's letter was strapped to his other leg. He sighed wearily in relief and slumped slightly as he took in the welcomed sight of the scroll. Mikhail wondered if he should untie it now to present to High King Peter. No, no, he chided himself silently, that wouldn't do! They may accuse him of tampering with it.

Mikhail hung his head and groaned. Why couldn't had Oreius sent this letter of "utmost importance" with Krypin as he usually did? As the Roost Captain of the griffins, Krypin was _accustomed_ to dealing with Narnia's royalty. Mikhail, for lack of a better word, wasn't. However, he was the fastest and well-rested of the griffins. At the time, it had seemed like a glorious idea.

"Yes, yes," he had told Oreius and Krypin without hesitation, "Of course I can handle taking a letter to Cair Paravel!"

The General had fixed him with a deadly stare. "This is of utmost importance, Lieutenant," he had said. Mikhail had listened with just as much sobriety – he had refused to spoil this mission due to lack of attention. "Deliver it straight into the hands of High King Peter and no other. It concerns the safety of one of the other monarchs, and if not read could mean death. Do you understand?"

"Yes, General Oreius, Sir!" Mikhail had exclaimed with almost glee. He wondered which of his rulers he was saving. So intent had he been on his mission – oh, mother would have been so proud! – that his mind hadn't actually processed the fact that he would have to talk to the High King upon his arrival.

But, standing in the quiet stillness of the Cair, it was all that his thoughts sung about. He was going to have to talk. To High King Peter the Magnificent. As in, Mikhail would have to actually exchange words with him. In his mind, he quickly went over things that he shouldn't say and the things that he should.

As he rehearsed his words, Mikhail failed to notice that the door behind him had opened and a very tired, very harassed looking Peter was coming towards him with several of the palace staff clambering around his feet. "Well?"

Mikhail's head jerked abruptly upwards as he spun around to face the King. "Your Majesty!" he said, and bowed low.

The King sighed, and said, "Rise, good griffin. I'm told that you have an important message from General Oreius for me?"

"Yes, Sire. I mean, Majesty. I mean –"

"The letter?"

"Oh, yes, it's right here," Mikhail said as he awkwardly stuck one of his legs out. One of the staff – a badger – who accompanied King Peter came forward and untied it before handing it to the king

Peter broke the wax seal on the scroll and began reading the contents. Several tense minutes went by, and with each Peter's face grew paler. "Oh, Aslan," he whispered, "Why _now_?" Mikhail had to suppress the effort to ask what the letter was about

"Your Majesty?" one of the staff asked.

High King Peter looked up distractedly and seemed to remember where he was. "Would you prepare the library for me?" he asked, an odd note coloring his voice. "Along with Sir Giles, I think. And perhaps the Beavers if they haven't left for their Dam yet."

"Yes, Majesty," the staff member said, bowing and scampering off.

The High King turned and, just as quickly as he came, disappeared.

Mikhail let out a sigh. He had hardly been able to form a complete sentence. His mother was probably rolling about in her grave…

* * *

Uthur the Minotaur trudged loudly through the camp. All around him remnants of his White Lady's army stirred. Some stoked fires, other sharpened swords. The sounds of fell creatures readying themselves for battle filled the air. The camp was muddy, the grass trampled and beaten to its death. The entire place smelled of death, decay, and evil.

However, he could not enjoy the sight as he usually did. The scents or sounds could sooth him as they would have any other day. No, right now he had to inform his Captain about those pesky centaurs.

"Sir," he bellowed. Another Minotaur, this one with more of a tawny fur color, turned and faced him. "I have news."

"Report," said the tawny Minotaur, Falot.

"We were tracked by three centaurs, but we led them to the decoy camp," Uthur said. "Then, I had Crix and Zaa follow them back. They reported to the General called Oreius. They sent a griffin towards their castle."

"Is that all?" Falot asked, and then pressed on without waiting for an answer, "Dismissed."

"Sir, there's something else," said Uthur, "We must strike now. If they are moving, then the Queen's murderer could possibly escape –"

Falot shook his head harshly. "No. We strike when the sun itself is smote by shadow. We strike when their precious Lion can not walk in Narnia. We strike beneath the Traitor Sun."

* * *

So…there is literally no Edmund in this chapter. My bad! But it was necessary, I swear! Review anyway?


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** Beneath the Traitor Sun  
**Summery: **An eclipse, a reformed traitor, and an ancient myth all come together as the Free Narnians make their next move. To bad that remnants of the Witch's army have a similar plan. Sequel to King's Bane.  
**Author:** Ultra-Geek  
**Disclaimer:** I have nothing even remotely interesting to say here, 'cept for I own nothing.  
R**ating:** T  
**AN – **Again, I have nothing interesting or witty to say today. Reviews are appreciated!

* * *

Edmund sighed, leaning back against the sun warmed stones and rubbing his temples wearily. The sun heated the land below it and was complemented by a breeze that had just the barest scent of autumn to it. The sounds of the mermaids splashing in the water and shrieking with the fun that only seems to come as summer draws to a close drifted up through the air. But Edmund, who sat on the balcony of a tower hundreds of feet above them, took no part in it.

Ever since the initial poisoning – when Edmund had had the first nightmare of plummeting down and to his doom from this very tower – he had escaped here. Every where he went, Philip, Peter, or one of the girls were always with him. It wasn't that Edmund didn't want their company; really it was quite the opposite.

Every day was a constant battle. Every time that his eyes slipped shut he would awaken in an entirely new world that was made of fear and hate. Every time that he dozed off the slightest bit would rouse him to the voice of the Witch, the sting of her whip, or the cut of one of her servants' knife. Edmund _needed_ to know that somewhere lost amid the terrors of his mind was someone who didn't wish him ill.

But that comfort was a double edged sword. Whenever Peter, Lucy, Susan, Philip were with him, they would give him The Look. The Look was the most terrible thing for Edmund. They would watch him when they thought that he wasn't paying attention with big rounded eyes filled with pity, worry, and fear. But the absolute worst was the utter helplessness they were obviously feeling. Edmund understood that last emotion. His entire existence had become dependant on those around him.

It was The Look that drove Edmund to quietly slip away when his watchers didn't pay him heed for a moment. And, without fail, he always ended up at the top of this tower, gazing listlessly over the glittering Eastern Sea and thinking dark thoughts. Edmund little knew why he came to this place, for the walk up the stairs very nearly drained him. The lack of sleep made him weak, the hallucinations stole away any of his appetite, and the combination of the two didn't create ideal physical conditions for hiking up winding staircases.

The people who gave him The Look didn't understand. They thought that he was needlessly suffering. Not one of them understood that Edmund deserved every nightmare, every terrifyingly vivid hallucination. He had been – he _was_ – a traitor. No amount of time would ever change that.

Edmund's eyelids grew heavier by the moment, drawn together as if connected by a thread. He forced them harshly open, and scrubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand desperately. He pinched his arm roughly, and the pain made him slightly more awake, but not much. Even in sleep his fears wouldn't let him rest, and he plagued by nightmares that simply chased him into the realm of the waking.

"I don't think," he said to the breeze that ruffled his hair as it danced by, "That I can do this much longer. I don't think that I can take much more."

The wind didn't answer, but Edmund hadn't expected it to. He looked at the balcony railing, and thought back to that first nightmare. Compared to several that he had of late, it seemed trivial and tame. He bit back a desperate sob.

"What am I supposed to do?" he whispered. "I don't think that I can do this anymore."

* * *

Peter drummed his fingers against the wooden library table. In front of him, Giles switched his tail and watched the High King closely. The Beavers had already left the Cair. "I have a job for you, Sir Giles," Peter finally said. "Oreius has sent word that one of his scouts overheard two loyal to the Witch speaking about something called the Traitor Sun, and I need you to find out all that you can."

The Fox nodded and half bowed. Then, straightening, he asked, "Your Majesty, if it isn't out of my place to ask, is King Edmund in danger?"

Peter looked at the knight sharply. Certainly Giles wasn't one of the Free Narnians? "Why do you ask?"

"I needn't do any research to know the basic history of the Traitor Sun, your Majesty," said Giles softly. "It is the day that the sun hides away, the day of the midnight noon. They say that every three hundred years the Traitor Sun rides over Narnia, and Aslan himself is kept away. The stories say that on the day of the Traitor Sun…no traitor shall be suffered to live."

The words hung heavy and dark in the room. Peter swallowed thickly. "Could you find out when the last time this happened?"

Giles nodded quickly. "Yes, your Majesty."

Peter turned and walked from the room, a new worry added to his list. He realized much to his consternation that an alarming amount of items on said list had something to do with his little brother.

Speaking of whom…

Peter knew exactly where to find Edmund. He had allowed his brother, though it raged against every over protective eldest child instinct he had, to escape from time to time up and onto that blasted tower. Some part of his mind whispered that he would grow to regret it, but another part advised to allow Edmund some air. To allow him the smallest bit of elbow room. Now, however, Peter had news to tell Edmund that he rather felt that he should do in person, instead of allowing it to filter through the castle gossip.

Minutes later, Peter plopped himself down next to Edmund. The younger boy barely acknowledged his brother's presence save for flicking his eyes towards him, and then returning his gaze to the sea. Peter was quiet for a moment, wanting to desperately tell Edmund to stay inside and lock himself away in a remote corner of the castle until they knew what this Traitor Sun was all about. But Peter knew then he would have to elaborate upon what the Traitor Sun was, on what Giles had told him.

Peter missed the time when he could talk to Edmund without carefully weighing every single word first. For now, however, Peter had to speak to Edmund about why he was up here. Peter took a deep breath, and simply said it.

"I have to leave."

Edmund's reaction was everything Peter had hoped it wouldn't be. He looked over at his brother, dark eyes wide and glassy in a too pale face. Peter could see all of the emotions flickering and waving through those orbs – desperation, despair, and above all else fear. Edmund swallowed roughly. "Why?"

"Oreius and his men found some remnants of the Witch's army. I'm riding out with the reinforcements tomorrow at noon."

"How…how long are you going to be gone?" Edmund asked next. The unasked question hung in the air: _How long can I not sleep? How long will I be stuck in a nightmare?_

"I don't know," Peter answered honestly. Edmund nodded and blinked rapidly. Peter knew that his face couldn't look much different. The two brothers sat motionless, neither speaking, almost lost in their worries.

* * *

Susan and Lucy stood in the courtyard, surrounded by bustling soldiers and half yelled orders. Edmund and Peter had apparently already said their good byes to each other after a sleepless night, and now the younger king had taken sanctuary somewhere within the palace with Philip.

Peter watched his sisters as they spoke quietly with his soldiers for a moment before approaching them. Lucy leaped forward and buried herself in his arms first, and hugged her brother fiercely. "Do be careful, Peter," she whispered.

He assured her that he would, and lightly kissed the top of her head before embracing Susan. "Hurry home," she said just as softly as Lucy had.

"I will," he answered and kissed her cheek. Peter turned and mounted his steed, a grey stallion he called Argo, and looked for a long moment at the windows of Cair Paravel. He sent a silent wish to the skies for his brother's well being, and then turned and rode away. The stream of soldiers followed him out. Peter would never admit to it, for the very thought made him somewhat ill, but the farther he got from the palace the lighter he felt, as if a great burden was gradually lifting. He couldn't fight away his brother's nightmares, but he could fight Minotaurs and Ogres.

Peter may have felt differently had he known that not two minutes after he had left, Giles looked up from a dusty tomb with a gasp. He stepped away lightly, feeling the immense weight of enormous responsibility settling down upon his shoulders. If his calculations were correct…

"The day after tomorrow," he whispered to the volumes of books around him. "The Traitor Sun is the day after tomorrow."

* * *

"You know the plan? Ritnik? Tibus?"

"Yes, sir."

"Yes, Rannoch."

"Good. We strike at dusk. I shall gather the others."


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:** Beneath the Traitor Sun  
**Summery: **An eclipse, a reformed traitor, and an ancient myth all come together as the Free Narnians make their next move. To bad that remnants of the Witch's army have a similar plan. Sequel to King's Bane.  
**Author:** Ultra-Geek  
**Disclaimer:** See previous chapters  
R**ating:** T  
**AN – **Heeeey, you guys…so. I'm not dead. Yeah. Um. /is ashamed/ Seriously, I have no excuse. I was distracted by some shiny, new fandoms like Star Trek and NCIS. But I have every intention of finishing this story (if anyone's even around anymore to read it, that is). But. _But_. I have no buts, actually, 'cause I really don't have any excuse. So…I'm not going to make any promises about updates and stuff, 'cause I can't and I don't want to leave all you peeps hanging. But it is my full intention to finish this. Since the last update, I have become a Senior in high school, hosted a German exchange student, seen the new Harry Potter move (epic!), finished the Percy Jackson and the Olympians series, finished the Pendragon series, spent a month in Germany as an exchange student (I was in Hessen, and the seal is a lion, so every castle I was all like "asihfhg;jfsk! NARNIA!") and found out that my favorite character on Torchwood died (WHY?!?!?!), become a Trekkie ("aksdhfa;klsdfj! TRIBBLES!), and gotten accepted into college. Basically…um…basically, I fail at updating. Here's the long awaited fourth chapter, where there is actual action-type events.

* * *

Edmund wandered out into the courtyard in the dying day. His dark cloak swished noiselessly about his ankles and he glanced over his shoulder. There was nothing, no one, but the empty cobblestones. The only sound was the crystal, clear water spraying peacefully into the fountain. Edmund hesitated, feeling the pull to walk over at run his hand through the water, to splash his face in a vain attempt at clarity.

A cool wind fluttered through. Edmund shivered slightly, and looked up at the sky. Without warning, he felt the now familiar sensation of shaking knees and eyelids weighted with lead.

When he woke, the cool wind was bitter cold. He pushed himself up to his hands and knees, fighting off the near overwhelming urge to vomit. Moments passed – precious moments – and Edmund felt his hands grow numb in the snow. "No, there's no snow," he whispered. "Just stones. It's not winter, definitely not winter."

Edmund opened his eyes, and his dismay almost smothered him as he took in the apparently abandoned, froze wasteland that surrounded him. There were no people, at least. No Wolves or trolls or _her_. Edmund felt a thrill of relief before the harsh reality of how much trouble he was in occurred to him. No one was in sight. No monsters. That meant no Susan, Lucy, Philip, or Oreius as well.

"Focus, Edmund," he said, ignoring the desperate, ragged tone his voice had adopted. "Focus."

Where had he been before? He remembered coming down from the tower. He remembered walking into the courtyard. He remembered looking around, seeing that fountain, and then…this.

Wait.

The _fountain_.

Edmund staggered to his feet and stood shivering in the harsh, freezing wind. "No, Pevensie, it's not cold," he growled quietly, choking back tremors and the flutters of panic in his stomach. "In fact, it's very p-pleasant."

Apparently, his body and heart had decided to ignore his mind. Edmund pushed down the feelings swirling throughout him – _She's coming, it's only a matter of time, run run run, not good, Peter, where's Peter, Oh, Aslan, not again please please no, not again – _and forced his mind to the task at hand.

Edmund shuffled forward, not letting his feet ever clear the top of the snow. Eventually, after what seemed like a millennia, he felt his toes bump into something. _Rock_, whispered that traitorous part of his thoughts that emerged whenever he was stuck in his nightmares. "Wr-wrong," Edmund told it, and plunged his face forward.

Edmund couldn't tell if he was drowning or suffocating, if his head was submerged in snow or water. In the end, it really didn't matter, because he couldn't breathe. Breathing was an appealing prospect. Very appealing. In fact, it was so appealing that Edmund jerked his face back and stumbled backwards before landing, graceless, on his bottom.

He gasped, blinking around at the once again silent stones that surrounded him. The night was cool, yes, but against his frigid skin it felt like a hot summer noon. Shaking, weak, and unable to stop gasping, Edmund spent a few minutes in complete disconnect. He pushed himself up into a seated position, head cradled in his hands. He still felt a bit queer, as if he hadn't quite awoken from the dream.

This was the first time that he'd managed to shock himself out of one of his nightmares. The first time. Edmund took a deep breath. All right, then. Someone besides himself should know about this. Yes, it was important that somebody should know.

He staggered to his feet, and stumbled off in the direction that he had originally been headed. Philip was closer than Susan, anyway…

* * *

Edmund needed time alone. Edmund was a very independent person. Thus, Edmund surely didn't appreciate Philip following him around all of the time. That was the logic Philip repeated to himself time and time again. Philip snorted and stamped a hoof. He reminded himself, _again_, that it really didn't matter what Edmund wanted, as long as Edmund was safe.

And then Edmund stumbled around the corner, ghostly pale and soaked to his bones.

"Edmund! What happened? Where've you been? Are you - " Philip cut himself as Edmund slapped the back of his neck idly and winced. "Are you all right?" he asked.

Edmund attempted a small grin, failing miserably. Philip opted not to comment. "It's nothing, Philip," Edmund said. "Just a bug bite."

Philip froze, and turned to see a similar stricken look on Edmund's face. "Philip, I didn't mean, that is, I don't think, I mean, I'm sure that –"

"We're going back to the castle," Philip said shortly. He pushed down the wave of guilt that made his tail swish irritably. After all, he had been the only one there the last time that Edmund had gotten a 'bug bite', and look at how well that turned out. He caught sight of Edmund's look, one mixed with petulance and terror, and he added a firm, "_Now_, Edmund."

Edmund nodded, and approached Philip. He came up alongside the Horse, and Philip knelt on the ground to get Edmund onto his back with more ease. Philip stood, and he found himself struck with the ludicrous notion that if he moved too fast while the wind blew at just the right strength, Edmund would go flying away. He shook his mane, and making certain that his boy was secure, turned in the direction of Edmund's room. "Philip, you won't believe what's just happened," Edmund started to say. Philip shushed him irritabley. Whatever it was, it could wait, for he could hear someone coming up from behind him. The someone had a peculiar gait that went _step-step-_thunk,_ step-step-_thunk. Philip turned to find their visitor just behind him.

"Master Philip," Ritnik said, leaning heavily upon her walking stick. "King Edmund. I hope you are both fairing well."

Philip felt a creeping sort of feeling crawling up his spine. He felt Edmund's grip tighten around his mane. Philip didn't know if the young king was just reacting to his own anxiety or if Edmund also felt that something was amiss.

And what happened next happened so quickly, Philip almost missed it. Almost. It took only a second to prove his previous thought – the one of Edmund blowing away and he not noticing – to be utterly and completely false. The griffin had dove and Edmund's weight, small though it was, had vanished from his back. He raised his head to bellow a warning cry to anyone who may've been near, but there was a sharp prick on his foreleg, and then…

Then Philip was waking up.

The courtyard was deserted.

* * *

Well. I hope that was worth the wait. I'll try and be better about updating, I swear! Next time…Peter, Susan, Lucy et al (or, really, that is the entire et al) find out about Edmund's disappearance, fingers are pointed, and the long awaited first mention of Mr. Tumnus' porridge is made. Or is it? Mwahaha!


End file.
